A Compass for Perdana Botanical Garden

Eddy was feeling very pening. While his friends were busy talking about which secondary school they wanted to go to or how they were going to become TikTok famous, Eddy felt like a blurred photo. He wasn’t good at sports, his grades were just “okay-lah,” and he had no idea what his “passion” was.

“Oi, Eddy! Walk faster-lah, you’re like a tortoise today,” his mother called out.

It was Sunday morning at the Perdana Botanical Garden in Kuala Lumpur. The sun was starting to bite, and the air smelled like wet grass and car exhaust from the nearby roads. Eddy trailed behind his parents, kicking a loose stone. He felt like his life was just one long path with no signboards.

Near the Sunken Garden, Eddy spotted something shiny half-buried in the dirt under a large Hibiscus bush. He knelt down, thinking it was a 50-cent coin. Instead, it was a heavy, brass compass. It looked ancient, the kind of thing a pirate or an old explorer would carry.

“Wait-lah, Ma! I found something!” Eddy shouted, but his parents had already turned the corner toward the Orchid Garden.

Eddy wiped the mud off the glass. “Strange,” he muttered. The needle didn’t point North. In fact, it was spinning like crazy before suddenly snapping toward a small, hidden dirt path he had never noticed before.

“You want me to go there?” Eddy whispered. He looked at his parents’ distant figures, then at the mysterious path. For the first time in weeks, he felt a spark of syok. He decided to follow the needle.

The Path of the Sunken Roots

The compass led him toward the Forest Research Institute area. Usually, Eddy hated walking, but the compass felt warm in his hand. As he walked, the noisy sounds of KL traffic faded.

He reached a spot where the trees were so tall they blocked out the sun. The needle pointed directly at a giant Tualang tree. Sitting at the roots was an old man wearing a faded batik shirt, painting on a canvas.

“Uncle, excuse me,” Eddy said, his voice small. “Is this your compass? It’s broken. It doesn’t point North.”

The old man didn’t look up from his painting. “If you only follow North, boy, you only find where everyone else is going. This compass… it points to what you are looking for inside.”

Eddy felt a bit confused. Aiya, another deep-talking uncle, he thought. But when he looked at the canvas, he gasped. The uncle wasn’t painting the tree. He was painting a picture of a young boy—who looked exactly like Eddy—standing at a crossroads.

“You feel lost because you’re trying to follow your friend’s map,” the uncle said, finally looking up with a kind smile. “Take the compass. It will show you three things today. If you finish the trail, you’ll find your way.”

The needle suddenly jerked to the left, pointing toward the Bamboo Play Park.

The Lesson of the Bamboo

At the Bamboo Park, the needle started vibrating. Eddy saw a group of younger kids trying to build a kite out of bamboo sticks and newspaper. They were failing miserably. The sticks kept snapping.

Eddy wanted to walk away—he wasn’t an expert at kites. But the compass felt like it was pulling his arm toward them.

“Eh, dik,” Eddy said, squatting down. “Don’t pull so hard. Bamboo is strong but you have to be gentle. See this?” He remembered a video he’d seen once. He helped them balance the frame. He realized he was actually quite good at fixing things. He had “steady hands,” as his grandfather used to say.

The kids cheered as the kite caught a tiny breeze. The compass glowed slightly and the needle shifted again. It wasn’t pointing at a place anymore; it was pointing toward the Herb Garden.

Eddy realized something. He didn’t have to be the best at everything. He just liked being helpful. The heavy “blur” feeling in his chest started to lift a little bit.

The Bridge of Reflections

The final stop was the lake. The water was still, reflecting the skyscrapers of KL like a giant mirror. The compass needle stopped spinning and pointed straight at Eddy’s own reflection in the water.

He looked at himself. He wasn’t the tallest, or the smartest, or the loudest. But he was Eddy. He liked the smell of the rain, the way the old uncle painted, and the feeling of helping those kids.

The compass suddenly clicked shut. When Eddy opened it again, the needle was gone. In its place was a small mirror.

“Found you!” His dad’s voice broke the silence. “We’ve been looking everywhere! Why you go missing-lah?”

“Sorry, Pa,” Eddy smiled, putting the compass in his pocket. “I wasn’t missing. I was just finding the way.”

As they walked back to the car, Eddy didn’t feel pening anymore. He realized that life wasn’t about having a map that someone else drew for you. It was about carrying your own light and being brave enough to follow the weird paths.

“Can we come back next week?” Eddy asked. “I want to bring my sketchbook.”

His parents exchanged a surprised look. “Boleh-lah, anything for you, son,” his mom said, ruffling his hair.

Eddy felt the weight of the compass in his pocket. He knew that whenever he felt lost again, he just had to stop, breathe, and look at the “North” inside his own heart.